


Double Macchiato

by doublevodkalemonade



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad Phil Lester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublevodkalemonade/pseuds/doublevodkalemonade
Summary: No matter how accustomed you are to something, there will always be times when it still knocks you off your feet and leaves you winded, and it's always worse when it takes you by surprise.Or, the hospital AU nobody asked for but that I wanted to write anyway.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Double Macchiato

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> This is loosely based from something else I read, but I can't find who wrote it so if anyone knows the work I'm referring to, please let me know so I can give credits for the idea. Also I literally know nothing about hospitals or doctors so sorry for the inaccuracies!
> 
> :)

It was always the same. Out of bed, to the tube station, through the sliding doors. It was so deeply ingrained after 5 years of training that it had become almost comforting, like an overplayed cleaning product advert. _Scrubs on, hand gel, work, repeat. Scrubs on, hand gel, work, repeat._

The _thrum thrum thrum_ of it was what got them through, really. The long nights and the ridiculously early mornings that sometimes made them both wish they’d pursued careers in accounting or something equally mundane. And the night shifts. The dreaded night shifts that were becoming increasingly frequent as demands peaked and funds drained. Fortunately, they had managed to figure out a way to make the 12am _oh fucking fuck_ alarm more bearable by literally getting straight out of bed and out of the door of their flat (obviously via the bathroom). 

This morning in particular was characteristically awful. As soon as the alarm blared across the room, Dan let out a groan and rolled over, gracefully shoving his face into the pillow and wilfully ignoring the inhumane sound that was threatening to ruin his cocooned bliss. His groan was echoed beside him. 

“Turn it off.” Phil mumbled, flailing an arm in the general direction of the bedside table and only narrowly avoiding contact with Dan’s left eye. “Dan. I said turn it off.” 

The arm flailing was becoming more persistent and Dan’s concern for the wellbeing of his eyes was starting to outweigh his need for sleep, so he conceded. “I will if you stop poking me in the eye with your manky fingers.” He grumbled, reaching out to turn the alarm off with one hand and grabbing Phil’s hand on his face with the other. 

“Hey.” Despite the darkness of the room, Dan could see the childish pout forming on Phil’s face. “My hands aren’t manky. You love these fingers.” 

Dan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small grin making its way onto his face. “That I do.” He said simply, bringing Phil’s hand to his lips and leaving a small kiss on his knuckles, before swinging his legs around the side of the bed and sitting up. He circled the bed and turned around when he got to the door of their en suite, noticing Phil hadn’t moved an inch, and was suspiciously quiet for someone who needed to be at work in 40 – _no, 35_ – minutes. 

“Come on,” He said, crossing his arms in faux annoyance. “Up you get, mister. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” 

“That doesn’t make me want to get up.” Phil mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Phil.”

“Dan.”

_Silence._ Phil could feel the stern look that Dan was giving him, and really, there was no need to rush so m- _why was he walking away from the bathroom and towards the door?_

Suddenly realisation hit him. “Nonono. Dan, stop. I’m up! I’m up!” He hurried out, immediately out of bed and upright. 

Dan grinned and removed his hand from where it had been hovering over the light switch. Years of knowing and loving and sometimes hating his partner meant that he knew every single one of his strange little habits and idiosyncrasies like the back of his hand. That being said, the extent of Phil’s eccentricity still managed to surprise Dan, on occasion. Certainly, he knew how to push his buttons, and the threat of turning the main light on in the morning never failed to get him upright, squinting in the artificial light like a mole-meerkat hybrid and groaning and sighing like a fatigued old man.

_(“Waking me up like this is turning me into a fatigued old man, Dan. This is your fault.” Phil had once pointed out, earning him an extra stern look and pillow to the face.)_

“C’mon, you lump. Your hair needs a wash and we only have 20 minutes now.” Pulling a face in response, Phil eventually got into the shower, and so their routine commenced.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The tube ride was as uneventful as ever, both of them slightly dazed from waking up. They usually made use of the 15 minute journey to just exist in comfortable silence before they entered the noise and chaos of the hospital.

As soon as they stepped through the sliding doors and had applied enough hand gel to sink a battleship, it was officially work mode. Due to the ungodly hour, the staff entrance was eerily empty – although, if anything, A&E was all the busier. Glancing around, Dan tugged Phil towards him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Don’t you go falling for a patient.” He said quietly, lips twitching slightly. 

Phil smiled instinctively, knowing his line. “Can’t help it - if they ask for Dr Lester, they’ll get Dr Lester.”

“Can I ask for Dr Lester?” Dan smirked in response, squeezing his waist lightly and mirroring Phil’s smile.

_“I’ll see what I can do.”_ They both said together.

It was standard procedure when anyone asked for a specific doctor. Tell them you’ll manage it and then sort it into your to do list. It usually ended up quite low down on said list, considering the state of some of the accidents seen on the ICU. 

Something about having the same exchange every time they entered the building was equally amusing and comforting, and it only became more so the more they did it. It was their night shift ritual, always performed to the same standard and always momentarily settling any anxieties the shift held for them. 

As Dan stepped back, two fellow surgeons walked past in the distance. Phil looked up and nodded at them in acknowledgement, and just like that Dan could visibly see the transition from _just Phil_ to _work Phil_.

“See you at break?” 

“See you at break.”

With that, they went their separate ways – vanishing into their respective wards for the next three hours. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The 3 am break call came within what seemed like minutes to Dan. After four successful minor surgeries (one which almost inevitably involved an avocado and a knife) and three reviews and referrals to other units, he felt it had only been one hour at maximum. Why someone had been cutting an avocado at 2 am, he did not bother to ask. Questions like that were for the slow, dragging day shifts where he would rather talk to an elderly patient about the weather than continue his designated (unnecessary) ward checks as a head surgeon. 

No – tonight was a busy night. He could tell, from the stress on the surgeons faces to the earnest, jittery performance of the junior nurses. Poor things. He remembers being in their place like it was yesterday, the eagerness to please and the fear of being wrong accumulating to form levels of anxiety he never even knew existed. Now, he took a more relaxed approach. Worrying was not productive, he had learned, or conducive to good performance. Separating emotions from work was a necessity to maintain the mindset needed for surgical success.

Dan knew how to switch his emotions on and off, and though it wasn’t necessarily something he was proud of, it definitely had its moments. Phil, on the other hand, had more difficulty with this – having a tendency towards mulling over the day’s happenings in bed, relaying his successes and failures in excruciating detail to Dan who had learned just to listen, and comfort if needed. Rationalising had proven to be a pointless endeavour. That being said, he was never emotional – no, Phil was as stoic as they come, and he had to be; working between A&E and ICU was rarely pleasant. 

As he approached the staffroom at the end of the long corridor between the two emergency wards, he caught Phil’s eye and gave him a small smile. He looked tired – but god, didn’t they all. It was bloody 3 am. After a stern briefing, pushing the fact that they needed to work quicker and harder if they were going to manage the patient-load before the morning, Phil came and sat next to Dan, pushing a half-eaten cereal bar into his hand. 

Dan read the wrapper and wrinkled his nose. _Banana and oats._ Phil gave him a look. 

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

He took a bite and shrugged noncommittally. “Meh.” 

After some small talk with the other doctors, Phil turned to Dan as if to say something to him, and then visibly stalled. 

Dan looked at him searchingly, raising an eyebrow when he didn’t respond. “What?” He said quietly. 

Phil grimaced, keeping his eyes trained ahead of him. “I’ve got a patient. A collision.” He sighed, “Its – I can’t…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “They were brought in at one. It’s not looking good.”

He turned to look at Dan, then.

“Oh.” Dan said, frowning, trying to gauge Phil’s mood and finding nothing. “Hey, I’m sure it will be okay.”

“Mmm.” Phil replied, clearly distracted. 

Dan reached across and gave his hand a squeeze. 

“You got this, Philly.” He stated, like it was a fact. It was a fact. This patient wouldn’t be the worst he’d dealt with and his statistics were stacked in his favour, as per.

“Dr Lester.” Phil corrected, smiling slightly with false reprove. 

“Stupid.” Dan retorted, matching his smile.

After another briefing, lots of sighing and the rest of the distinctly average tasting cereal bar, it was back to work for both of them.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“… look left, please. And to the right. Thank you.” Dan flicked off the torch and popped it back into his front pocket, stepping back and giving the man one last look over. Nodding to himself, he turned and handed his files to the junior nurse who was shadowing his shift and was sizing up to be quite the competent assistant, unlike some. Dan made a note to ask about her in the staffroom and hopefully steal her as his protégé before anyone else did.

“Just a routine CT scan for this one. See if you can slot him in before a major, it should only be a quick one.”

She nodded and left, and Dan turned back to his patient, who was a middle-aged man with what was most likely a concussion. 

“If all goes as planned, we should have you out of here by morning.” He said with a friendly smile, giving his stats a final glance over. “Try to get some rest now, and if you’re in any pain press that button by your left arm.” 

As he walked away, he let out a sigh of relief. That was all of his patients seen to, and all that was left now were bits and bobs of admin work and research which he was all too happy to do. Deciding to get a coffee to perk him up slightly, he made his way down the stairs and towards the café for his regular black coffee. Simple, but effective. He passed through the intensive unit, more out of pure nosiness than necessity – he had time, after all – and winced at the dismembered patients being wheeled in and out. Just as he was about to reach the door, he saw a tall, dark haired man in his peripheral vision and looked over to see Phil in discussion with a group of surgeons.

His scrubs were bloodied, and his face was serious. He’d just come out of surgery, then, Dan thought. Phil glanced in his direction and met his eye from across the room. He raised his eyebrows in enquiry, as if to say how’s it going, and Phil responded with a dishearteningly solemn shake of the head. Dan understood immediately, and something in his stomach clenched for Phil and for the patient.

He offered a small, sad smile as some form of solace before watching him return to the surgery room. 

He checked his watch. 5.05 am. And if the patient was brought in at 1 am, that meant Phil’d been in surgery for almost _four_ hours now. Dan exhaled a long breath, before continuing on his way to get his coffee.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“For Dr Lester.”

He placed the large costa cup in the hands of a doctor who he vaguely knew to be called Mike. _Or Mark._ No, definitely Mike. Yes, Mike Stanford. 

Mike looked at him with raised eyebrows. “That’s not standard procedure. He’s in surgery and you shouldn’t be here, Howell.” 

They were both stood outside the room, watching the surgery through the glass window. Dan could make out the figure of Phil and three other surgeons.

“That’s Dr Howell to you. I’ll thank you if you could do what I say.” He responded, irritation burning in his stomach.

Mike blinked and took the drink, watching Dan walk away with both contempt and fear, although he'd never admit it.

Phil would tell him off for that. Exerting your power over others for your own ends wasn’t approved of, and nor was it polite, but exceptions can and will be made. 

_Double Macchiato, two shots of vanilla syrup, chocolate sprinkles – oh, and can that be extra hot please?_

He thought he probably deserved it. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dan had been checking his watch every five minutes for the last half hour, until it finally hit 6 am and they all bundled into the staffroom for the third briefing of the shift and the final goodbye. He chatted with some colleagues he liked, until he realised it was ten past and Phil still hadn’t finished. The briefing came and went – _well done to the junior nurses, we’ll see some of you tomorrow etc etc_ – but by the end of it, Phil still hadn’t appeared. Dan frowned to himself in confusion, looking around the room and noticing that the surgeons Phil was working with were here too – _just not him_.

He resolved to find him, anyhow. The sooner he could get back into bed the better, and he couldn’t do that if Phil was _A.W.O.L_. Maybe he’d just nipped to the loo, he pondered as he walked through to the back room where the toilets and lockers were.

As soon as he stepped through the doorway, he spotted who he was looking for right away. He was stood at his locker, back turned to him, seemingly folding his scrubs away. He didn’t notice Dan’s presence, so Dan cleared his throat to announce his arrival. 

Phil flinched, startled. “Oh – er –“ 

Dan furrowed his eyebrows and stepped closer to him. “You alright?” He queried. 

Phil’s eyes were trained to the floor and he didn’t reply. Dan took in his appearance. Scruffy hair, like it had been pushed out of his face for hours. Frown lines prominent as ever and mouth firmly set as if the tension hadn’t quite worked its way out of his system yet. His hands were trembling minutely. 

Dan already had an inkling, but something clicked into place in his head and he didn’t need a verbal response. He could read the signs – anyone could have. It was like a language, a medical language spoken in head shakes and grimaces and pallor. 

“Phil.” He said. “Look at me.” 

Phil slowly raised his eyes to meet his and they were just _so_ tired, bloodshot with strain and rubbing and simple defeat. This was a different type of tired, the tired that bore at your mind and wore out your resolve like a weight that couldn’t be shifted. He could recognise it just in the way doctors carried themselves, in their body language. And _god knows_ he’s been there before. 

He frowned sympathetically and brought his hand to Phil’s cheek, running his thumb across the jut of his cheekbone which seemed all the more prominent in his pale and exhausted state under the harsh lights of the ward.

Phil let out a breath, a fragile breath that shook as it came out, like it was paper thin, and it made Dan’s insides twist with sadness. His hand left his face and he let it run down Phil’s arm to gently take his hand. 

“You got everything?” He asked gently, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

Phil nodded, and they made their way out of the room and down the corridor into reception. Dan kept stealing subtle glances at Phil, trying to assess his mood. To an onlooker, he looked fine – yes, he looked tired, and drained, but he was a surgeon and it was 6 am. It was to be expected – it almost came with the job description. But five years with someone must count for something, and Dan knew that inside his head, Phil’s mind was whirring away and he suspected he’d soon be informed of all the areas in which Phil thought he’d failed that shift. 

He gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and they walked out of the door and into the chilly morning air, the sun just coming up over the tall buildings. To his surprise, he felt a gentle tug on his hand and he turned and realised that Phil had stopped walking and was standing just past the threshold of the door. 

“Phil?”

“Dan.” Phil breathed, and Dan’s heart constricted upon hearing how changed his voice was from their similar exchange that morning. _“Dan.”_

His blue eyes were wide and teary and his face was pale in the sunlight. It was as if crossing the hospital threshold, through the sliding doors and out into the world, had stripped the final layer of professional stoicism from Phil, and what was left was _devastating_. The tears fell fast and strong - six hours’ worth of pent up pain and defeat flowing freely – and when the first sob came, Dan’s arms were wrapped around him strongly. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Dan whispered, rubbing his back gently. “It’s alright.” 

“It’s – it’s not – I tried, but she just – so much blood.” He hiccuped through heart-wrenching sobs, pressing his face into Dan’s shoulder and soaking the thin material of his white shirt. 

And Dan didn’t mind. _God_ , he did not mind at all. How could he? His boyfriend, his partner, his best friend and colleague was breaking down in front of him and all he could do was be there. Be there and comfort him, because nothing could make this better. Losing a patient was _devastating_. Mind numbingly devastating and Phil was inconsolable because that’s what it was. Inconsolable. There would never be a solution other than getting back on your feet. 

“Not your fault, love. It’s not your fault at all. You did your best.” He mumbled into his soft hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Phil took in a few stilted breaths, his body limp as if all the energy and resolve had been drained from him. It had. 

After a few minutes, Dan pulled back enough to look Phil in the eye, his arm remaining around his waist. Phil blinked up at him sadly, innocently, and in that moment, he looked simultaneously decades older than his age, and like a young boy again. The childish innocence had never left him – as proven by his sweet tooth and giggles and not to mention his propensity towards sulking – but today, instead of making Dan roll his eyes fondly, it heightened the sadness in his eyes.

“I promised.” He breathed sadly, his voice worn and scratchy and yet somehow _so young_. 

Dan brought his hand up, smoothing his hair back gently. “I know. And you tried your best. There’s nothing more you could have done.” He replied, so firm yet so _gentle_ at the same time. Phil swallowed, letting a few more tears leak out of his eyes before nodding and resting his head against Dan’s shoulder again, overwhelmed with the intense feeling of _needing comfort_ and _needing it from Dan_ , despite knowing all too well that it couldn’t change a thing.

Dan squeezed him tightly in response. 

_I’m here. I’ll always be here. It’s going to be okay._

They drew apart and Phil let out another shaky breath. They stood there for a while as Phil gathered himself, pulled together everything that had come undone just enough to get him home and to bed.

Dan smiled comfortingly and looked as if he was going to speak.

“-I know what you’re going to say.” Phil interrupted quietly. 

“Oh? What’s that?” Dan lips twitched upwards in an almost smirk.

_“Coffee.”_ They said in unison, and Phil gave him the smallest of smiles. It was small, but _god_ did it mean everything when just five minutes earlier it seemed a little like the world was caving in around them. 

“Yeah, because there’s nothing like a disgustingly sugary caffeinated drink to help soothe anxiety.” Dan admonishes, but he’s smiling, all dimples, and to Phil it feels like at least half his world is restored, beginning to lessen the raw, unsettling ache in his stomach that has been building ever since he stepped on to the ward - a moment that now feels like it took place in a different lifetime.

Phil laughs. It’s watery and it’s broken, and it’s barely comparable to the Phil he kissed goodbye in reception just 7 hours ago, but _my God_ , it makes Dan’s wooden heart sing.

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

And they don’t go back to the coffee shop on site, because the wounds are too recent and too raw and to go back would be to relive the pain that they’ve barely scratched the surface of yet. The sugary latte remains untouched on the windowsill of the empty surgery, bleached clean, until it grows cold and is cleared away to make way for the next shift, the next surgery, the next cycle of successes and tragedies. 

As they walk into Starbucks, Phil recites his order. It’s the same, and always will be.

_Double Macchiato, two shots of vanilla syrup, chocolate sprinkles – oh, and can that be extra hot please?_

And Dan rolls his eyes, smiling – but not before he takes Phil’s hand in his, and gives it one last gentle squeeze, as if to say _I’m here. I’ll always be here. It’s going to be okay._


End file.
